


Wild as a Wolf

by Space_Samurai



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Childhood Memories, Cultural Differences, F/M, Jon Snow is King-Beyond-the-Wall, Wildling Jon Snow, Wildlings - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-06
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-08-10 21:30:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20142289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Space_Samurai/pseuds/Space_Samurai
Summary: Either by the Targaryens or the Starks, fate is decided to crown Jon Snow. Though the Gods have laughed in this life; he ends a king yes, but one without a castle or crown.The King Beyond the Wall-Or: Jon Snow is carried away in a raid by wildlings, and grows to become their king.





	1. Beyond the Wall

**Author's Note:**

> So, I've seen a lot of Last Kingdom and Vikings. Taking children to raise as your own seems to be a thing there, so that's what we are doing here.

**293 A.C**

He refuses to cry, though the tears burn hotly behind his eyes. Truly, he’s only good to bring trouble upon himself. If he had a mother, maybe she’d sigh at him and comfort him. Like Lady Catelyn did for his brother when he fell and hurt himself. But Jon Snow has no mother, and no one has ever let him forget that.

The wildling’s hold over him it’s not so hard it hurts, but it’s not weak either. It’s firm enough to keep him in place if he struggles. Maybe this is a punishment from the Old Gods, for his own stupidity and for betraying his father. For being a bastard. Though they have been punishing him for that since the moment he took his first breath.

At barely eight years of age, he was well aware that he was not welcome at Winterfell, though it was the only home he ever knew. He was the stain in his father’s honor, the bastard boy who should have died from smallpox in the cradle. He was well cared for, yes, but the coolness he was treated with hurt. He wished to be sent away, to be fostered at somewhere or to join the Night’s Watch. His father refused vehemently, claiming that he was too young and that his place was at Winterfell.

He will now die far away from Winterfell and no one would know, his father will never know how sorry and grateful he was. Arya would forget him and Robb now had highborn Theon. The thought saddens him, pains him enough to make him sob, only making his frustration grow.

His captor hushes him in an almost comforting manner, though his grip over him does not waver. He is gigantic man, the tallest Jon had ever seen and he had recently met the Umber men. With wide a wide back and a long braided beard, Jon could have told he was a wildling even if he wasn’t wearing so many furs. He had proven his strength too, as he was firmly holding Jon in one arm and a heavy bag of grain in the other.

The men and –to Jon’s surprise- women of the group carried their goods, freshly stolen from Last Hearth, in a similar fashion. They had come in the night, when everyone was deep in their sleep. Everyone but Jon, who had decided that it was a good night to sulk at the stables.

Greatjon Umber had invited them to feast, as the Gods had been kind and made the harvest plentiful. Lady Catelyn had stayed behind with her daughters and Bran, who was barely more than a babe. So Robb, Jon and Theon had joined Ned Stark and rode north of Winterfell to the Last Hearth.

When most were deep in their slumber, or passed out due to the drinks, Jon had seen his opportunity to slip away. The people who remained awake barely spared the bastard boy a glance as he had passed through the halls. 

As he had gone to brush his horse to the stables, he had found a guard knocked down and a sleeping groom tied to a wooden pole. He never got the chance to scream, for a knife was soon pressed against his pale throat and woman’s voice warned against it.

“Ynlin, let go of that little lord. I don’t think he poses a threat to us.” Said a man, clearly a wildling if his looks were anything to go by, with a mockinge. It was then that Jon met his soon to be captor. Behind the man who had just spoken, he appeared.

“That’s no lord. Look at him, he’s skinnier than a damn dog.” He crouched and went eye to eye with Jon. “Pretty as your daughter, too.” A smile pulled from his lip, which was scarred. Jon stared silently at him, refusing to show any fear. The man nodded once. “I’m taking him with me.” Jon’s eyes widened in horror.

The Umbers had told them about the wildling raids, how they would come at night from the Bay of Seals in little boats to steal their crops and cattle away. Or how they would take people once in a while as well.

“Skamun, that means less grain for ya.” The woman with the knife, Ynlin, pointed out. “I ain’t carrying the boy.”

“I didn’t ask you to.” Skamun nodded again, deep in his own thought. He walked to one of the stalls and took the woolen saddle of one of the horses. “I’m taking this too.”

Jon’s mind was in a rush, he was about to be taken captive. Fear washed over him, even as he tried to appear brave. Would he be sold as a slave, or would they eat him like in one of Old Nan’s stories? He didn’t want to go with the Grumkins and Snarks!

Desperate and afraid, Jon took his chance; he bit down the exposed skin between her gloves and pelts. She yelped and cursed him, but she didn’t let go as Jon had expected, she crushed him against her chest. The last thing he heard was Skamun’s roaring laughter before everything went dark.

Jon regained consciousness hours later, with a dull ache in the back of his head, without the slightest idea of where he was and more cold than he had ever felt in his whole life. It was different that the cold of Winterfell’s nights, even the one he had felt when he tried to leave Last Hearth. A salty breeze hit his nose, with it came the realization of why it was so cold. They were at the sea, in a bloody-boat. 

Eventually the tears dry, leaving place to trembling. He was of the North and the words of his house were “Winter is coming”, but the cold was sinking in his bones slowly and painfully. He almost wanted to lean against someone, if just to share a bit of the heat. He’d die freezing before ever reaching their destination. Theon would surely have a laugh at him, if he ever were to find out.

Skamun still had his arm around Jon and he noticed the boy’s tremors. “You cold lad?” A rough laugh escaped him. “You southerners are so weak.”

Jon frowned. “I’m a northerner.” 

“Good to see you have a tongue.” He felt the man shaking his head behind him and Ynlin scoffed by their side. “Anyone from south of the Wall is a southerner. You are about know the _ true _North.” A chill went down his spine. They were going to the other side of the Wall, barely a week ago he was dreaming of doing so, though under very different circumstances. He had wished to become a ranger, to go scout the wild-north with his Uncle Benjen. 

_ I still can _, he told himself. He could still find a way to reach the Wall. Had anyone noticed his absence back at the Last Hearth? Likely not, though he had no way of knowing. Maybe a fight had broke out when he was unconscious.

“Where are you taking me?” He asked, priding himself on how little his voice wavered.

“North of the Wall, I told’ya.” Skamun loosened his grip for a second and pulled over Jon the woolen saddle he had stolen from the stable, now serving as sort of blanket. He had been sitting on it, it was warm and Jon didn’t even fight how good it felt. “There you go. It wouldn’t be any good for you to die out here.” 

The wariness returned. “What are you going to do with me?” 

“I’m going to cook you in some stew along with sweet-roots and deer.” Jon’s back tensed and the man broke into a raucous laughter.

Ynlin grunted at their side, her red hair disappearing under the hood of her cloak. “Shut up you both, I’ll sew your damn mouths. Some of us are trying to sleep.” With that, she wrapped her arms around her bag of grain and turned to sleep once more. Skamun grunted at her in response.

“Ease yourself lad, no one is eating you.” One of his big hands circled Jon’s arm. “You are pure bone and no meat.” He snickered, mindful of Ynlin’s warning. “I’m taking you to my wife.”

Jon’s stomach turned. Wildlings got married? He had always been told by the men of Winterfell that they were godless beasts, though Old Nan might have mentioned that they kept to the Old Gods. What kind of wife could Skamun have? Surely she was a wood’s witch.

He really didn’t want to end up eaten.

“She’s recently lost our boy. Didn’t even had a proper name, too young brings bad luck, you know?” Skamun continued. “It was a bad fever. She’s been sad, thought another boy might brighten her up.” 

At least that meant he had no intentions of killing him -or eating him-. Jon still wasn’t fully at ease, he couldn’t in such situation, but it was something. 

Jon looked up to the sky, the stars shone bright and clear. The wildlings were already drifting off into sleep, though some were very awake and still rowing the boat. There were other little-ships around them, sailing closely. Jon figured he might need his strength for tomorrow, so he leaned against Skamun and slept.

* * *

Jon wakes up to the bleat of a goat. He lifts his head from his spot, confused. It takes him a moment to remember the events of the night before. He’s not at the Last hearth with his brother and father, he’s at a wildling boat. At the head of said boat, there’s a goat in a man’s lap.

_ They stole a goat _, Jon realized. How did they even carried off a goat and why didn’t he notice the night before?

“Lad, you up?” Skamun shook him lightly. With the man’s strength, Jon got properly awake in a matter of seconds. “Do you have a name?” Now in the daylight, Jon could see him clearly. Skamun had dark brown hair, longer than it had seemed at the stables, tied messily behind his back in a braid. His eyes were a piercing blue that brought Robb to mind, and Jon felt like crying again.

“My name is Jon Snow, lord.” It slipped from his lips without any thought. Ynlin didn’t give Skamun any time to laugh, snorting loudly before he could.

“That man is no lord, boy. We are the freefolk and we don’t have any of those this side of the Wall.” _ Only Grumpkins, Snarks and giants, _thought Jon Snow. “Svara is going to kill you when you bring that little kneeler to her.” This time, she spoke to Skamun. 

As long as she didn’t kill Jon, he didn’t care about Skamun’s fate.

“And why would she do that?” Skamun grunted. 

“That boy won’t replace the one she lost.” She told him, not cruelly. “That’s not how it is.”

“And how would you know? You’ve got no sons.” The man’s expression turned sour.

“I don’t need no boys, I’ve got my Ygritte waiting for me on shore.” Her gloved fingers twisted one of her red-locks. “Kissed by fire, born lucky just like me.”

The shores, Jon could see them through the whitey mist. A land of snow and mountains rose beyond it, he could see the threes and the _ green _of it. He had always thought the north of the Wall would be nothing but a barren white expanse of land, like most of the North. 

It was quite the sight, he might have even gasped. He had only gone so far as the Last Hearth in his young life, but he knows now that nothing will ever compare to this.

**299 A.C**

“Is that a _ crow _?” Jon whispered. He couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing. “What the hell are they doing this far north?” 

Ygritte was quiet, she gave him the barest shrug of shoulders. They were both lying on their bellies, what was meant to be a quick hunt turned into a game of chasing. They had been playing like children when Ygritte jumped at him, tackling him to the ground. She had pressed a finger over her pink lips, urging him to be silent.

Jon spotted the crow easily, black amid the sea of white snow and dark threes. He hoped they wouldn’t be spotted in turn, as both of them were wearing white pelts, blending with the snow well enough. Jon’s mother had made the cloaks for them, after Ghost had dragged home a white bear’s get. 

The crow wasn’t alone, Jon could hear the crunch of the leaves being crushed by boots. He shared a wary look with Ygritte, who shook her head slightly. _ Don’t move. _Her eyes spoke. Jon didn’t breath, he wanted to pull his bone-dagger from the belt around his waist and put it to good use. 

Longspear Ryk’s brother had been killed by a crow recently. He wouldn’t take the man’s right to avenge him, but justice would be made. Ygritte had her thoughts about Jon’s way of justice, much like his father did. 

Two other crows appeared, making signs to the first one. They seemed to be having a discussion of sorts. Jon threw Ygritte a look of his own. _ Let’s jump at them. _They were distracted enough, they wouldn’t see them coming.

Ygritte glared at him. _ Stay down, you cunt. _

The newcomers apparently convinced their brother to go with them, for he reluctantly walked back to where they all had come from. Ygritte smiled at him, her crooked teeth blinding him. _ Told you. _

Jon huffed, his breath creating little puffs of white. He moved to the side, as he was resting over a particularly pointy branch, and landed over some leaves. The noise hadn’t been loud enough to call the attention of the crows, but Ygritte elbowed him in the stomach. A grunt escaped him.

The first crow turned at the sound, making Ygritte press herself further down the snow. Jon eyed him warily from his spot amongst the branches, if the man even glanced their way, he’d attack. He couldn’t risk the rest for their own mistakes. 

He pulled the cloak’s hood back, exposing his face to the cold. Jon’s heart fluttered in his chest, there was something familiar about the man’s features, he had seen those before; a lifetime ago in his fa-.

He physically shook his head. If he went there, he wouldn’t return.

_If I look back, I’m dead. _

The crow sighed and followed his brothers, leaving them alone. Ygritte and Jon stayed down for long after they disappeared in the thickness of the woods. Once they were certain they were safe, they silently moved from their hiding spot.

“Let’s go back to the camp, the others must be waiting for us.” She told him, shaking off the snow from her form. “You almost got us killed, _White Wolf_. Again.” She spoke mockingly, but Jon smiled at her, knowing she liked it when he did. She’d call him pretty and all.

“Me? You were the one who who brought us here, remember? I only wanted to hunt, then you chased me and attacked me like a wild beast.” Ygritte snorted, punching his shoulder. 

“When I attack you like a wild beast, you’ll _ know _.”

Jon Snow, the White Wolf, laughed. “I’m sure I will.”


	2. Pledge of loyalty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the story, we'll be jumping back and forth in between times. With that said, enjoy.

**293 A.C**

Skamun doesn’t boil him in a stew or roast him over the fire. He drags Jon through the forest and snowy paths. Jon tries to remember the turns he took, but everything looks the same to him and he fears he might not be able to find his way back if he manages to escape the wildling.

They leave behind the party that had raided the Last Hearth and go their own way. Jon is glad he doesn’t have to see Ynlin anymore, the woman wasn’t fond of him and kept calling him a  _ kneeler.  _ She had parted ways with them to return to her daughter, who was waiting for her somewhere in the  _ Haunted Forest _ .

Skamun is a talkative man and he fills the silence that forms between them. He tells Jon of his wife and his daughter, a girl older than Jon and too stubborn to die. He mentions the children they’ve lost before and after her, most recently a boy due to a terrible fever. The boy he plans to replace with Jon. A mindless savage he might be, Jon can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy towards him. That doesn’t keep him from plotting his escape.

Slipping away from Skamun proves to be impossible and the man openly laughs and mocks Jon’s vain attempts to free himself from his hold over him. With one hand he holds Jon and with the other, he carries a sack of grain. He is a strong man. Skamun’s grip is relentless and Jon isn’t strong enough to fight it, so he resigns himself to follow his lead. 

He tried to cheer himself with thoughts of what will happen once he outsmarts Skamun. He  _ will  _ find a way to the Wall, he'd go to his Uncle Benjen, who in turn would take him to Winterfell. He'd be received as a hero: the boy who survived beyond the Wall and bested the savages.

Eventually, after days of sleeping in the cold, eating whatever the man could catch as he kept Jon from running, they reach his village. It is kind to call it such, Jon only sees some tents and shacks scattered around at the verge of the forest line. The people greet him at his arrival and they stare at Jon without concealing their curiosity.

When they reach the shack that clearly belongs to Skamun, there’s a woman waiting for him at the entrance. She stands against the doorframe (if Jon can all it that), watching them get close to her. She’s wrapped around many furs and has braided long hair.

“Svara,” Skamun’s whole face lightens at the sight of the woman and his eyes dare to shine with something like hope.

“Who is that?” She asks, her eyes on Jon. She’s a very tall, slender woman and Jon feels tiny before her. There are dark circles under her eyes, which carry a haunted look with them. Jon recalled what Skamun had told him. He just hoped the woman wouldn’t kill him for offending her with his presence.

“This is Jon,” Skamun introduces him, almost shyly.

“What is he doing here Skamun? Whose child is that?” With that, Skamun pushed him forward.

“It doesn’t matter, he is ours now.” The woman’s eyes widened and Skamun has the decency to look somehow ashamed. “I thought he’d make you- well, us good. He won’t replace the ones we lost, but…” He cleared his throat. “Lad, this is your mother, Svara.”

If this man were his actual father, Jon would have given everything to hear those words coming from his mouth. To finally have an answer to the question that had tormented him ever since he was old enough to understand his status as a bastard.

“A pleasure to meet you, my lady.” He bowed, like he was taught to do.

“I’m no lady, there’s no reason for you to bend.” She pointed out. Still, Jon wouldn’t risk offending her or worse, Skamun. “The clothes you are wearing… How have you not frozen by now?” She threw a look at Skamun, the man avoided her eyes.

“I brought grain, I didn’t get caught.” He told her, lifting the sac so she could see. "I've missed you."

“You brought another mouth to feed.” She complained. “Come with me boy, I have some of my daughter’s clothes to give you.”

The first two weeks he spends with the wildlings are… tame. Twice he tries to escape and twice Skamun catches him before he can get far. The first time, he forgave Jon on the promise that there wouldn’t be a second time. The second time, he made Jon get naked and then promptly threw him into the pond that was near their shack. Svara fished him out and later kept him warm by the fire.

**299 A.C**

His mother urges him to steal Ygritte or put a child in her belly, insisting that she’s old and in need to meet her grandchildren before passing. Skamun doesn’t voice his agreement, but Jon knows he feels the same way. He ignores them both, his younger sister has lived two winters and is soon to have a name of her own. They are not that old, waiting won’t kill them.

It’s been ages since Jon has stared upon a mirror, he has a vague idea of what he looks like, his reflection on the lake only offers so much, but according to the girls of his village and Ygritte; he is pretty. Just that, pretty. He can’t grow a beard yet, which makes him look like a green boy next to old, hairy Skamun. Ygritte doesn’t seem to mind.

He spends his days hunting with her, their villages have merged together since the green and animals had made themselves scarce back on the north end of the Antler River. Maybe that’s why his mother insists he must steal her, if they villages become one, they’ll be kin and their union will be frowned upon by the Gods. Jon thinks the Gods are busier with other things.

Something’s been brewing for long. The  _ Thenn  _ have left their frozen mountain valley, the top of the Frost Fangs has emptied, Jon has crossed paths with more war-bands in these last months than in his whole life. The animals were disappearing, the people vanished and some heard screams in the dead of the night. The most terrifying thing was that none stopped marching south, the bands barely spared them a glance, their haunted eyes focused on the path ahead of them.

Rumors had reached them, about Mance Rayder, who fancied himself King Beyond the Wall and was gathering an army to invade the North -no, the South. Jon almost shook his head. He couldn’t have divided loyalties. If Skamun decided to join Mance Rayder, Jon would pledge his loyalty to him.

Ghost licked the blood off the tip of his fingers, breaking him out of his thoughts. Jon was prone to fits of melancholy and would often find himself staring at the distance. His sisters would pull him out of those, by smacking the back of his head or by pulling the locks of his hair.

Hresa is seven-and-ten, of age with Ygritte and three years older than Jon, she was the one that taught him how to hunt and track preys on the snow. She looked like their mother, while their younger sister, who was yet to be named, was the spitting image of Skamun. Hresa liked to call her Fang, for she was toothy and prone to bite those she disliked. Jon approved of the milk-name, as did their parents.

Ghost bumped him with his snout.  _ We need to go _ , his red eyes seemed to say. They did need to be heading back, Skamun had ordered that none should be far after the sun went down. He petted Ghost’s head and scratched behind his ears, the pup was growing quickly and it now reached his hip.

He hung the bow on his shoulder and Ghost dragged the reindeer by the neck. Its antlers would make a good knife, Jon thought. The rest of the creature would go to his mother, she’d skin it and keep the pelts, cut the meat and share it with the rest of the village. He will sneak a piece for Ghost, when she wasn’t looking. Svara was fond of the beast, but with the lack of food, she might not be too keen in sharing with it.

When he arrives to the camp, there is a discussion going on between his father and the leader of Ygritte’s village, none other than Ynlin. Hresa spots him before anyone else and gestures at him to stay put. She reaches his side discreetly and quickly fills him in what he has missed.

“Some men have arrived, from Mance Rayder’s camp in the south. Ynlin and the old man have been going at it for hours.” She tells him with a grave expression that does not suit her well. The flames of the campfire dance in her face, the orange shining bright in her grey eyes. “They’ve asked us to join them.”

“ _ Asked? _ ” Hresa shrugged, face still tight.

“Felt more like a warning. Come with us or we will come to you.” Jon frowned.

“Why would Mance Rayder care about us?” They weren’t an impressive bunch by any means. Yes, Skamun and their men were strong and their women sharp and agile, but they lacked the numbers to make a significant difference to the man’s army.

“That’s the thing, they’ve been saying it’s for our own good. That Mance has united all the clans. The  _ Thenn _ have joined him, the  _ cave-men _ … Even Rattleshirt has stopped his skirmishes with Harma Dogshead to pledge his allegiance.” Jon’s eyes widened, their scuffles were known by everyone north of the Wall. “Jon, they say the  _ giants _ are fighting for him.”

“And you think we should do the same.” Hresa shifted on her spot.

“If the Old Man doesn’t want us to go, I won’t. But you’ve heard the stories, haven’t you noticed how we haven’t gone back north, even as the seasons changed? There’s something behind us.” Hresa looked down. “I wouldn’t want to be this side of the Wall when we get cornered by it.”

Jon wouldn’t like to, either. His gaze went to his father and Ynlin once more, concern clouded their features, as well as uneasiness. Ygritte was not far from them, with Longspear by her side and Jon’s mother right behind. Svara exchanged glances with Skamun as he spoke.

“If we don’t march south with them, we’ll die.” Ynlin said plainly, sharp-tongued as she was. “I say we join Mance Rayder, we’ll take back what the Gods made for us to share!” Voices joined in agreement, Ygritte included.

Jon knew Skamun. The man wanted to agree with her, but he wouldn't do it until he was certain it was safe for Svara and Fang. Jon and Hresa could fend for themselves well enough, but their mother was saddled with their younger sister. Not to mention the other children of their villages. Jon had no doubt that Ynlin was taking them into account too.

“You wish to drag every one of us to a war with the crows and the high lords?” The disdain was evident in his father’s voice. “You want your daughter and mine to be killed by the arrows of the crows?” His blue eyes shone dangerously and the voices around them quieted.

Ynlin was relentless. “Better by them and not by the  _ white walkers _ ,” she spat. “We can choose how to die, I choose to die fighting an enemy I can defeat!” A chill went down Jon’s spine. Nobody dared to speak. Skamun’s look became dark. “Skamun, there’s a reason we burn our dead.” Her lips tightened into a fine line. “If we all die here, who will be left to burn us?”

Jon’s father then turned and went inside his tent, with a gesture, Ynlin and the messengers from Mance’s camp followed him. The conversations grew once more. Jon’s mother reached the spot where he and Hresa were.

“Is that dinner?” She asked, pointing at the dead reindeer by his feet. Jon had forgotten about it, Ghost had already chewed a big chunk off it.

“Are we going to war?” He asked plainly. Svara’s face revealed nothing.

“If the crows are so few as they claim, it will be less of a war and more of a massacre.” She replied quietly, Jon’s stomach turned. “Fear not, your father will make the right choices.”

“And what are those?”

Svara gave him a smile. “If I had to die, I’d rather die with an axe in my hands and a dead crow by feet rather to freeze or starve to death.” She made no mention of the cold-walkers, she didn’t need to. Jon nodded in agreement.

“Me too.” Her hand found its way to his cheek, and she caressed him lightly.

“I would prefer you to live. You are too young to think about death, my son.”

* * *

Time later, Ynlin and his father emerged from the tent, the boys behind them. Skamun wore a stern look in his face, with his lips pressed together in a fine line and determination in his eyes. His decision was made. All the people were out, waiting expectantly for their leaders decisions. Though they were free men, so Jon had no doubt that, if they truly wished to do so, they’d join Mance.

“Pack your things,” Jon’s father began. “All of you, tomorrow, we shall go south to join the King Beyond the Wall. His cause is a fair one. None of our children will starve again. Those born from now on will do it in the stone-huts.” He promised. “Mance Rayder will take us to the lands of the always green, before winter comes!”

His voice boomed in the dark of the night, the people echoed him.  _ Before the winter came! _

Ynlin did not smile triumphantly, but there was the vaguest shadow of satisfaction there. “Will you all join us?” She asked, the freefolk answered with shouts and promises. Her gaze met Jon’s through the fire.

“What about you, White Wolf?” Her tone was almost mocking, Jon could feel her desire to call him  _ little kneeler  _ though it has been years since he had last kneeled to anyone. She’d never let him forget he came from the other side of the Wall. “When Mance Rayder tears down the Wall, will you fight with him, with us, against anyone who tries to stop us from crossing?”

_ Will you fight those who you once called brothers? _

_ Are you one of us or one of them? _

_ Are you a kneeler or a free-man? _

He thought of the tales that came from the Frost Fangs, the whispers of dead men rising once more to strike against others… _ Burn your dead _ , a man with haunted eyes had told them.  _ Warned them. _

Jon felt the weight of every eye upon him, but his voice did not waver and his answer was certain. “Of course. “ He said, and it was true.. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Please share your thoughts with me! I'd love to hear your opinions.


End file.
